


Not So Different

by MikeWritesThings



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Makeup, Octane | Octavio Silva Has ADHD, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeWritesThings/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: Octavio liked watching Crypto, the man who seemed to be his complete opposite, and seeing that they might not be so different after all.
Relationships: Crypto | Park Tae Joon/Octane | Octavio Silva
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	Not So Different

**Author's Note:**

> omg i have now officially written 20 cryptane fics....its hard being the ceo of cryptane 😔
> 
> ANYGAYS this is rly self indulgent cryptane being adhd bfs. god bless

The people who ran the Games liked making a fool of all the Legends.

Well, scratch that, not necessarily the people who ran the actual Games, but definitely the advertising team. And maybe _some_ Legends would thrive in this environment of pretty smiles and pearl necklaces and delicate martinis, but Taejoon was not that type of person. In fact, he would rather be doing anything, _anything_ but attending this stupid formal ball, and yet they seemed determined to force him to attend. Yet another reason to despise the Syndicate.

“Careful with the curls,” Mirage told his stylist, who clicked her tongue in annoyance as she ran her nails lightly through his hair, trying to get it in the exact way she wanted it to. Taejoon’s own stylist was desperately trying to blend foundation evenly on his face, but was apparently having trouble due to the plating on his chin and jaw. 

“Can’t you take that off?” His stylist asked, sounding to be at the end of his rope.

“No,” Taejoon replied coolly. His stylist pursed his lips, looking upset, before composing himself with one deep breath and grabbing a comb instead. He tried taming the back part of Taejoon’s hair, which stuck up no matter how much hairspray and gel was used, before giving up and smoothing over the lapels of the black suit jacket he’d been given.

Mirage wore a similar suit, but white with gold accents instead. Taejoon hated that he was matching with this fool, so when they were all done getting touched up he undid the top two buttons of his shirt and tossed the tie elsewhere. There was also a fucking handkerchief in this suit pocket. He was disgusted.

“Hey look!” Mirage said, gesturing to his own golden handkerchief and Taejoon’s purple one. “We’re suit buddi—”

Taejoon yanked the handkerchief from his pocket and threw it in the other’s face, causing him to sputter.

Next, they had to sit in limousines to be driven to the actual party site. Taejoon was thankful that he didn’t have to ride with Mirage, knowing they would just be getting on each other’s nerves, but his gratefulness didn’t last long. Not when he saw one of the people he would be riding with.

“Hola,” Octane said, sounding far too chipper beneath his mask, and Taejoon took a deep breath to prepare himself. God, this ride was going to be.. _.long_. The two of them hadn't interacted much, but they were neighbors on the dropship, so Taejoon was often a first-hand witness to the amount of chaos and restlessness the daredevil seemed to contain.

Octane’s stylist watched him get into the car from afar, looking harried, with their eyes watering as if they were about to cry, and Taejoon could see why.

Unlike Taejoon, Octane was wearing a waistcoat. Beneath that waistcoat was a button-up that had previously had long sleeves, but the other had clearly cut half the sleeves off with his butterfly knife. The same fate applied to his slacks, cut off at the knees, but to be fair to him, they seemed very tight, and had probably gotten caught on his metal legs.

Bangalore snubbed her nose at Octane, murmuring something about clowns beneath her breath. Pathfinder, who had remained largely unchanged for this event except for a bowtie around his neck, clapped in excitement when he saw Octane’s outfit.

“Wow, friend!” He said, equally as chipper. “You look great! It’s so you!”

Well, Taejoon supposed that was true. It was very _Octane_ in style, maybe lacking his affinity for crop-tops, but Taejoon had a feeling the only reason he hadn’t cut his shirt from the belly button and below was lack of time.

Their chauffeur shut the door behind Octane, so it was just the four of them in the limo. If Taejoon looked close enough, he could see Wraith, Mirage, Lifeline, and Wattson in the limo next to theirs. Wraith looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Taejoon had never seen her hair so clean, but as he watched her she gathered it up into a knot and tied it at the back of her head. Good for her.

Taejoon fiddled with his fingers in his lap, trying to block out the other three in the car. Bangalore was telling Octane and Pathfinder about the last time she’d been to a fancy event like this, twenty years ago during high school graduation. _Simpler times,_ she said.

Taejoon had never had a high school graduation. He’d never really gone to any formal events, unless you counted that time he and Mila had to dress up for one of their foster families during an open-house auction. This suit jacket was scratchy and uncomfortable, and though the inside of the limo was roomy, the people inside it made it feel crowded—Pathfinder and Bangalore with their heights and Octane with his explosive personality that showed itself even in this confined space.

The limo hadn’t started moving yet, so the other man was twisting everywhere in his seat, messing with every single button he could find—rolling down windows, making the lights flicker and change colors, causing the AC to either blast or go silent. He then found particular interest in the bucket full of ice between the four of them, several bottles of champagne inside.

“Silva, quit being a nuisance,” Bangalore snapped when he picked up a handful of ice, for no reason that could be good.

“But I’m boooorrreeed,” Octane whined.

“It’s been _five minutes._ ” Bangalore crossed her arms over her chest, looking uncomfortable in her dress—midnight blue with a halter neckline. There was silver lining her eyes, popping out against her dark eyeshadow, and Taejoon thought it was a bit unfair that she could have such pretty makeup but all the guys were stuck with the basic foundation and highlights sort of deal.

Not that he... _wanted_ pretty makeup. He didn’t want to wear makeup today, but if he had to, it should at least be fair. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. _Ack, stupid thoughts._

“Why are you wearing your mask, friend?” Pathfinder directed this question to Octane, his screen flickering to show question marks. 

“Yeah, if I had to let them cake my face, you can take off your mask for the night,” Bangalore said, nudging his leg with her heels. 

“I don’t wanna,” Octane said, picking up another handful of ice just to let piece by piece drop back into the bucket. “I don’t like how they did my makeup.”

Taejoon squinted at him, and spoke for the first time. “Huh?”

“They only gave me foundation! That’s so— _boring._ ”

“Good for them,” Bangalore said. “You’d have moved too much to let them do anything else.”

“Not true,” Octane said, before he began lifting things up, looking for something. “But they’ve got to have some stuff in here too, like, in case the girls mess up their eyeliner or something.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bangalore sneered. “Why would they-”

“Aha! Found it!”

He pulled out an unopened package of makeup, arranged neatly by type, clearly some expensive brand. Bangalore’s mouth snapped shut, and she crossed her arms again, staring solemnly out the window. Taejoon rolled his eyes a little at the whole conversation, because none of this mattered; he would rather be at home trying to get into the Syndicate’s servers again, but he was stuck here. With _these_ people.

He glanced at Octane, who had taken off his mask, the inside of it coated with smudged foundation. He was wiping the rest off his face with a wet wipe, rubbing his skin—and Taejoon didn’t know a whole lot about makeup, but could tell that this action alone would have made Mila gasp in horror.

He became lost in thought about her—wondering how she would have made fun of him for wearing this stupid suit, with his hair combed and all the blemishes on his face covered to give himself an almost unnaturally perfect appearance. Maybe he would have rolled his eyes at her jokes, but now, he would give anything to hear them again.

The car was suddenly put into motion, and he came back from his thoughts to see that Octane had accidentally stabbed himself in the eye with a pencil eyeliner. 

“Ow.”

“Don’t do that here,” Bangalore nagged. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Too late, already did.” Octane tossed the pencil aside, and Taejoon had to prevent himself from laughing at the other’s face—he had managed mostly smooth eyeliner on his right eye, but a very jagged black streak ran down his cheek, a little smudged from when he had rubbed against his face after stabbing himself. 

“Are you just going to leave it like that?” Taejoon couldn’t help but ask. Octane shrugged.

“Don’t feel like taking it off. I think I used the only wipe.”

 _Idiot._ He didn't deserve to be so cute when he was that dumb.

( _Hey, just w_ _hat are you thinking?...)_

Taejoon closed his eyes as the limo rolled smoothly through the busy night streets, trying to take himself some place far away from here. He could feel the others in the car with him—Pathfinder being awfully still like, well, a robot, and Bangalore sitting ramrod-straight, legs crossed, with one foot shaking a little impatiently. And Octavio Silva to his right, practically bouncing off the limousine walls as he tried entertaining himself for the car ride.

He had no idea how long this ride was going to take, but Octane’s restlessness was almost making him fidgety in turn. He tugged at the bottom of his suit jacket, eyes still closed as he took in deep breaths, an exercise Mystik used to make all the kids at the orphanage do when they thought they were going to get upset. Three minutes passed, mostly in silence, Octane occasionally humming random parts of a song or messing with the window again, making it go up and down and up and down and up and d-

“Silva,” Bangalore burst out, and Taejoon opened his eyes. “Quit. _Moving._ ”

“Sorry, amiga,” Octane said, sitting up straight at her words. His eyes were wide, which only brought more attention to his failed eyeliner attempt. “It’s just—ugh, what’s taking so long? Why aren’t we there yet?”

“Due to traffic, we have approximately—” Pathfinder’s screen flickered, before showing the GPS route their driver was taking. “Half an hour until we get there!”

Bangalore and Octane both groaned in response for different reasons. Taejoon really wanted to know how the MRVN had gotten his screen to do that, but felt that by asking, he would receive a very long explanation that would cause Bangalore to have another outburst.

He stared at his hands, resting on his thighs, fingers twitching a little involuntarily. With a sigh he moved them to his pockets, but was surprised to feel a familiar object in his left one. He must have put it in there and forgot.

Glancing between the other passengers in the limo, Taejoon debated something. Bangalore was clearly short-fused, perhaps equally as impatient with this whole event like he was, and Octane was bored and jittery. The other's restlessness was putting him on edge too, so with an internal sigh he pulled his puzzle cube out. It was programmed to only react to his own fingers, so he wouldn’t have to worry about others accidentally accessing his drone or any of his information.

“Here,” he mumbled, holding it out to Octane. He’d used to fiddle with it a lot more often, but now that it was the main access port for his drone, he couldn’t really do it often without accidentally activating it. The other man would have more use for it, and if it got him to stop fidgeting for even a couple of minutes, everyone would be better off.

“Eh?” Octane cocked his head to the side, fixing the puzzle cube with a look. “Isn’t that your drone thingy?”

“It’s a toy,” Taejoon said, knowing the semantics wouldn’t matter to him. “Play with it.”

Octane didn’t need to be told twice—he snatched it from Taejoon and instantly started twisting and turning it, holding it up to his eyes like he was trying to see if he could make it work like Taejoon did. He couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. Whatever kept him occupied.

“He’s like a five year old,” Bangalore scoffed, and he felt a little chagrined at that statement. He liked messing with things like that when he was bored too, and Mila used to make fun of him for it. He’d stopped letting her words get to him, but to hear others criticize the action made him feel self-conscious. 

_Stop being stupid,_ he told himself, and closed his eyes to try blocking everything out again.

The puzzle cube did its job for about fifteen minutes, which was honestly a lot longer than Taejoon had anticipated it to keep Octane occupied. About halfway there he tossed it back into Taejoon’s lap, declaring that he was bored before picking up the makeup package again.

“Let me do your makeup,” Octane said, and when Taejoon opened his eyes once more realized that the other was referring to him. Bangalore shot him a look, like, _Hey, if you want to lose your eye, be my guest._

“What do you have in mind?” Taejoon sighed, and Octane picked up one of the brushes, frowning.

“Green eyeshadow would be pretty bitchin’.”

“No,” Taejoon said. When he had thought about prettier makeup earlier, he had not imagined green at all. It was his favorite color, but green eyeshadow on him sounded atrocious, especially when the person offering to do it for him was Octane.

“Aw...okay, how about green l-”

“No green.” Taejoon then realized what he was implying. “And I never said you could do anything to me, anyways.”

Octane rolled his eyes but gave up anyways. He laid across the plush cushions of the limousine seating and pushed his metal feet against the windows, likely leaving filthy marks on it. This went on for a full sixty seconds (Taejoon counted) before Bangalore said in an awfully steady voice,

“Can you not sit still for another ten minutes?”

“I tried,” Octane said.

“You didn’t. I sat there and watched you. I don’t want to go to this fucking event, Silva, and you are not helping my nerves. I need you to shut the fuck up and be still, before I break something important.”

Octane opened his mouth, and it was like witnessing someone swing a bat at a hornets’ nest. Unable to take it any longer, Taejoon sat forward abruptly, reaching for the makeup package. “C’mon, do they have any nail polish?”

A last-ditch effort to keep him entertained, but there was, in fact, three basic nail colors inside. Taejoon couldn’t believe he was about to let the other paint his nails, but he would rather wear blue nail polish than have Bangalore snap so close to him. He wasn’t afraid of many people, but she was definitely high up on the list of individuals who intimidated him.

“I bet if I mixed these two,” Octane said, holding up the blue and yellow bottles, “I can get green.”

“If it makes you happy, will you stop messing around?” Taejoon asked.

“Maybe.”

It was better than nothing. Octane poured equal amounts of the polish onto his fucking pants, mixing it together with the brush and no doubt leaving an awful stain on his previously pure white slacks. Between them being ripped at the knees and the new green stain, Taejoon wondered how much it was going to cost for damages.

He scooted closer to the other man, holding out his left hand. It wasn’t his dominant hand, and he was hoping that it wouldn’t take too long to get to the event site before they got to his right hand lest other people notice the undoubtedly terrible job done on his nails.

Mila had painted his nails once or twice, when they were kids. He remembered her wanting to test a color on him first, not sure if it would be ugly or not, and he’d rolled his eyes at the thought of being used as her guinea pig. Octane bending over his hand now reminded him of that, and he swallowed down a pang in his chest as he watched the other paint his nails.

"You have nice hands," Octavio commented randomly, and he felt his face heat a little, for some reason. A reaction he didn't really want to think about.

In the end, it went almost fine. His pinky and middle fingers looked the worst, paint running down to his fingertips, and with trepidation he held out his other hand, blowing on his nails to dry the paint like he'd seen Mila do. He shot a look towards Bangalore, who was doing what Taejoon had earlier, keeping her eyes closed and her head back. 

“You keep your nails so short,” Octane noted, running the brush over his right thumb. “How d’you remember to cut them so often?”

The other man’s own nails were very uneven, some longer than others, and clearly hadn’t been cut in a while. The unevenness kind of bothered Taejoon now that he had noticed.

“Routine,” he answered, almost moving to brush his hair out of his face before remembering the paint on his left hand. “It keeps me focused if I set a schedule, like cutting my hair every two months on the-"

“Boring,” Octane interrupted with a yawn. He then looked up, curious. “Wait, you cut your own hair?”

He felt his eye twitch, for some reason. “Yes.”

There was a beat. “Can you cut mine?”

“No.”

“Ay, you’re such a stick in the mud,” Octane complained, before painting Taejoon’s index finger too. “Ah, well, I guess that’s not true. You’re letting me do this.”

“Friends,” Pathfinder said suddenly, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour. “We’re almost there.”

“Fuck yeah!” Octane cheered, tossing the brush somewhere, which thank god, Taejoon’s whole hand wouldn’t be painted. He watched the other man wipe the paint off his pants with his own hands, before rubbing them against the seat. He was pretty sure he did these kinds of things on purpose.

Before the limousine had even come to a complete stop in front of the steps leading into the building, Octane was already pushing the door open, scrambling outside and energetically shaking his limbs out like he was about to sprint. The crowd of reporters raised their cameras to snap pictures of him before he raced up the steps, too fast for their photographs to come out as anything but blurry.

With a sigh, Taejoon stepped out of the car, offering his arm to Bangalore out of politeness, who only accepted it because she was wearing heels and needed a brief moment to steady herself on solid ground.

“Thanks for keeping him quiet back there,” Bangalore told him, and Taejoon shrugged, glancing away. He spotted Octane at the top of the steps, waving at Mirage, who had stepped out of his own limousine looking somewhat harried. Stepping away from Bangalore, Taejoon opened his mouth to tell the other he looked terrible, just to get under his skin, when Mirage paused and asked,

“Why are your nails green?”

Ah, he hadn’t put his hands in his pockets yet. Turning on his heel so he wouldn’t be around the other anymore, he made his way up the stairs, keeping his head low so none of the reporters could get a good picture of him. He truly hated these types of events.

“C’mon, amigo, you don’t even look like you’re having fun,” Octane said when Taejoon approached.

“There’s no fun to be had,” he replied flatly.

“Well, you _make_ the fun!” Octane grinned, winking, and Taejoon found his half-done eyeliner very distracting. “I’m gonna spike the punch, so that’s my fun for the evening. By the way, digging the thot look you’ve got going on.”

Taejoon stared at him. “My _what?_ ”

“Eh, you know, the buttons,” Octane said, miming unbuttoning his own shirt, and Taejoon looked down, having forgotten that he had undone the buttons on his shirt in an attempt to look less like he matched with Mirage. Self consciously tugging at his collar, they were led into the building, Octane already ten paces ahead to get on with his spiking the punch plan.

With another sigh, he followed after the other, just to make sure he wasn’t going to put anything _too_ dangerous in it. He would probably end up sticking to him like he had with Mila all those years ago, because even if he was loud and restless and unsubtle, he wasn't as bad as Mirage, or likely to kill him like Bangalore or Wraith. And it definitely helped that he was nice to look at....

( _Stop thinking like that._ )

* * *

Crypto fidgeted a lot.

It was something Octavio noticed whenever he watched the other, whether it be during the Games or on the dropship or anywhere else. He messed with his fingers in an almost nervous manner—not explosively and noticeably restless like Octavio was, but once you saw it, it was hard to unsee it. He rustled around in his pockets a lot, like he frequently forgot where he put his things, and his eyes were often darting around, on edge.

He had started hanging out with him more after that time in the limo, assured that they had become sort-of friends because of it. He talked to the other man more whenever they were on the same squad, intrigued by his whole hacker persona. He was also attractive, so Octavio liked watching him, and had started noticing the familiar signs because of it.

Being, like, the poster child for ADHD, Octavio was able to recognize the symptoms. He even noticed that the other’s puzzle cube was configured to be operated almost like a toy—spun, twisted, and shaken to maneuver his drone, like he was giving his fingers something to do. 

Crypto was sleep deprived, had a short temper, and his forgetfulness of things rang all the bells in Octavio’s head. It excited him to see that someone else behaved like him, even if in a far more muted manner, especially after years of being told that he was inherently childish because of it. Look at Crypto! That guy was like, stick in the mud number three, and yet he seemed to have The Thing! The Thing that his own parents refused to acknowledge for seventeen whole years of his life, so forgive him for practically throwing himself in Crypto’s lap and asking outright,

“You have ADHD, right?”

“Wh—” Crypto jolted, evidently surprised that Octavio had pounced on him. The man had been laying in his bed, staring at his phone with glazed eyes, and Octavio had taken one look at him before deciding that it was free real estate. “I have what?”

“ADHD,” Octavio repeated impatiently. “Attention something hyperactive disorder.”

“Deficit!” Ajay called.

“That thing!”

Crypto stared at him, brows knit. He looked genuinely lost. “No?”

Aw, man. Maybe he’d been wrong after all, which was very disappointing. He sat back on top of Crypto’s thighs, trying to formulate his words. Maybe others would consider it rude that he would slap such a label on them, but he didn’t care. He was _sure_ he was right, more sure than he'd ever been of something.

“Are you sure?” Octavio asked, almost suspicious.

For some reason, Crypto’s face was starting to flush. “ _Yes._ ”

“Huh.” He felt his interest rapidly fade. “Boring.”

“Can you please get off of me?” 

Ah, right, he was still sitting on his lap. Climbing off of him, Octavio jabbed two fingers at his own eyes before gesturing to the other man, the universal sign for _I’m watching you._ Crypto continued to look baffled, which was honestly a great look on him. A nice change from the superior _‘I am smarter than all of you’_ glint he usually had in his eyes.

He would be watching him, and he would catch him unawares one day. Today was just not that day.

He decided to do the same thing later that evening, jumping into the man's lap and straddling his thighs so that there was no way he could ignore him like he so often did. Seating himself firmly in his lap, he opened his mouth to say something, but the next thing he knew he was being shoved to the ground harshly by Crypto, whose reaction has been delayed purely due to shock that it had happened again.

"What was that for?" Crypto snapped, face flushing a shade of red that Octavio was starting to become familiar with. It almost gave him a sense of pride that he had managed to draw it out of the other man.

Sprawling out on the ground dramatically and pretending to be injured, he said,

"Trying to get you to pay attention to me, compadre!"

Crypto rolled his eyes before turning his head to the side, as if trying to hide his flushing face from Octavio's view with his high collar—he did that a lot, now that he thought about it. _Interesting._

"You can do that without climbing on me," Crypto mumbled. "Anyways, what do you want?"

"I like climbing on you!" He responded cheekily, sitting up now obviously flirting. "And I want to spend time with you, dude. I like looking at you."

The _also I'm watching you because I'm sure you're just like me_ went unsaid.

Crypto responded by kicking him out of his room, pushing him out so hard he landed harshly on his butt.

Wow. _Rude._

* * *

Octavio would not pretend to be extremely well-versed in all the little blocks that made up ADHD. He knew about rejection sensitive dysphoria and that was about it, because his counselor had explained it to him in high school, and he’d used it as an excuse so many times to Ajay that she had gotten sick of it and told him that if he ever brought it up ever again, she’d actually slap him. He guessed that was fair.

But he _did_ experience RSD—just usually the opposite spectrum of it. The over-investment in a person that would drain him until he began to emotionally disengage, which was probably exactly what he was doing to Crypto right now. He couldn’t help it—Crypto was interesting, both in the sense that he was a mysterious person with secrets to unravel and that he _might_ have ADHD.

They were currently in the middle of a match, and Octavio was flipping his knife repeatedly across his knuckles. His inner wrist and fingers were covered in minor lacerations because he had been doing this activity for the past hour without stop—Crypto liked hunkering down in small spots every now and then to scout the area with his drone, which was annoying, because Octavio could do that himself just fine.

“Let me run around!” Octavio complained, and jammed stim into his thigh, not waiting for permission. A hand grabbed the collar of his vest, physically restraining him from sprinting away.

“No,” Crypto had said firmly. Their teammate had given up on pinging respawn beacons; the two of them had reached a silent agreement to not bring them back, because they had dove headfirst into a battle between two squads and then called them both a series of names for not picking their ass up, so it was just the two of them for this match.

Octavio was Crypto’s lookout in case another squad came, which was very boring. He heard the whirring of the drone overhead and tried following it with his eyes, but it soon disappeared from view, and at that exact moment he gripped his knife wrong, leaving deep cuts on the base of his fingers, close to his palm. 

“Hijo de _puta_ -” He hissed, dropping his knife onto the ground at Crypto’s feet. Crypto’s eyes flickered over to look at Octavio, staring at the blood welling up on his fingers as Octavio dug around in his backpack one-handed for a syringe. He heard the other man sigh before his hand was being gently held in another, and he looked up to see Crypto frowning at the cuts.

“Why do you always do things that hurt you?” He mumbled, and Octavio laughed.

“Because it’s fun. And to be fair, I didn’t want to hurt myself, I was just bored.” He then tried shifting the blame onto the other man. “I wouldn’t have been so bored if you had let me ru-”

“No,” Crypto said firmly once again, and pulled one of his own syringes out, jamming it into Octavio’s inner wrist, which had smaller cuts on it as well.

"My hero," Octavio said, followed by a _'mwah'_ sound, which made Crypto roll his eyes a little. He watched his wounds slowly close up, becoming white scars against his skin, before noticing that Crypto’s hand was shaking ever so slightly.

 _Oh, you_ so _have ADHD._

Having shaky hands himself, he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could he heard a series of footsteps coming from behind them, three pairs of them to be exact.

“Aish,” Crypto hissed, and raised his other hand, firing a Wingman over Octavio’s head. His grip seemed surprisingly steady despite his hands’ trembling, and Octavio spun around too, emptying two clips of his R-99 into the team behind them.

They fell to their feet as deathboxes, and Octavio puffed his chest out proudly as the announcer named Crypto kill leader.

“Ayyy, check out mi amigo! The new kill leader!” Octavio gave him a thump on the back, noticing the way the other man flinched at the sudden contact. “Okay, what’s next?”

"Stick with me. Don't run off."

"You know, for someone so hot, you sure are _boring_ ," Octavio complained, but felt the slightest bit better when he saw the back of Crypto's neck turn red at these words.

They didn’t win the match, but they almost did. In round four they were pressed close to one another in the deepest corner of an abandoned building, ready to surprise-attack any wandering squads. Octavio had not been very onboard with this plan until Crypto told him that he would be sticking arc stars to him so that Octavio would be able to hurt others without hurting himself. A neat plan, and it sounded exciting enough to get him to wait, but he was still impatient, tapping his foot against the ground.

Crypto was turning his puzzle cube over in his hands, his drone buzzing above a different building to let them know if anyone was approaching. He studied the other's face, the purse of his lips and the shape of his nose, the metal on his jaw and his ears. He was a unique-looking person, in Octavio's opinion, and he rather liked watching him.

He suddenly heard the front door of the building open, and before he himself even realized it he was already pushing himself away from the wall, bolting towards the squad that had entered.

“Hey!” Crypto called, sounding annoyed, but he felt the other throw arc stars at him anyways, sticking them to his back. 

“Buenos dias!” Octavio told the squad in front of him cheerfully, their eyes full of horror, before the arc stars went off. It disoriented Octavio too, but it at least didn’t damage him, and he managed to down two of them before a bullet found its way through his ribs.

Aw, man. They were getting third-partied. He _hated_ those.

He saw Wraith beckon for her squadmates to follow her, and they took out the third from the squad Octavio had mostly knocked. He heard guns fire, some phasing happen, and the next thing he knew he was waking up in the infirmary.

Damn, such a boring way to go. At least the arc star thing had been cool. 

He found himself pacing in Crypto's room ten minutes later, recounting how fucking _awesome_ it had felt to do that, while the other man hummed, as if barely listening to him. He was messing with his puzzle cube again, though his eyes weren't focused, fingers going through the motions without a second thought. Octavio watched him, still pacing, before coming to a halt and getting into Crypto's personal space, much to the other's alarm.

"I think you have ADHD," Octavio told him.

Crypto arched an eyebrow, one arm braced to prevent Octavio from getting _too_ close to him. "This again?"

"Yes, this again!" Octavio said, flapping his hands around while he tried to form coherent thoughts. "We're the same!"

"Please don't say that."

"But we are!"

It was making Octavio frustrated that Crypto just _wasn't getting it._ He was _sure_ he was right, more than any other time in his life—the insomnia, the shaky hands, the aversion to talking to people, the stupid _puzzle cube_ , the forgetfulness, the hyperfocus on whatever he happened to be doing on his computer. He didn't know how to say all of that without it becoming apparent that he had liked watching him, looking for the signs, and besides, that was way too many words to say anyway.

His face was turning red as he tried to articulate his thoughts, and Crypto, getting impatient, shoved him out of his personal space.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the other man said shortly. "I don't act like you."

"Yeah you do," Octavio said, because he didn't know how to talk to people, and Crypto rolled his eyes. "Okay just—hear me out! We're not so different!"

What followed was a near-incomprehensible rant of like, _everything_ on his mind. His own diagnosis and his parents willfully ignoring that there was _something_ off with him growing up and hyperfocusing on his own ADHD which led him to see it in Crypto too and _he was right, okay, I'm right about this I promise we're the same._

Crypto watched him, looking somewhat exasperated, and when he finally finished his ranting and took a deep breath, he said, "Is this why you've been watching me?"

"Yeah," Octavio replied, unashamed. Crypto sighed before running a hand through his hair, looking like he didn't quite know how to respond. He was really cute, Octavio thought to himself, with the way his brows furrowed when he was thinking and his lips thinned. Several moments of silence passed, his leg jittering uncontrollably with the wait, before the other man finally said reluctantly,

"I'll look into it, I guess."

"Really?!"

"No promises," he said, and Octavio crossed his arms petulantly, feeling that he was only saying that to get him to stop talking. "And even if I _did_ have it, I wouldn't know what to do with that information."

"It means we can be friends," Octavio said, only half-joking.

"Purely on the basis of me _maybe_ having ADHD?"

"Well, you're cute too, amigo, so there's that."

And there it was—the flush in his face, coupled with the furrowing brow and intentionally cool expression, purposely blank but being betrayed by the red rising to his cheeks. Octavio was going to have fun with that.

"Let's say we become friends," Crypto said, and Octavio internally cheered. _Fuck yeah. I win._ "Would you stop watching me, then?"

"Hmm. No promises."

When he started glaring, Octavio backtracked. "Okay, yeah, I will. I mean, I'll try! But you're pretty interesting, man. And like I said, cute."

"Stop flirting," Crypto mumbled, focusing his gaze at a point over Octavio's shoulder as if trying not to make direct eye contact. "Fine. We're friends."

"ADHD friends?" Octavio asked, grinning wide and intentionally trying to be obnoxious. Crypto's eyes slid back to him, and his lips quirked up at one corner, as if he were fighting back a smile. He'd never looked at him like that before, and it made him feel funny.

"ADHD friends," he said back, before kicking him out of his room again.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: HGH FOR SOME REASON THIS DIDNT POST WITH THE EXTRA 600 WORDS I GAVE TO IT??? I FIXED IT THO
> 
> the entire premise of this fic was
> 
> crypto: h  
> octane: I Diagnose You With ADHD
> 
> this has been sitting in my docs for a while but im tired of looking at it so here yall go wndienisjeis. i did want to make it a lot longer but im starting to have severe writers block bc it feels like im one of the only bitches providing consistent content for these two so im gettin burnt out again lol. 
> 
> hope u had fun!


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